


My Bright Is Too Slight to Hold Back All My Dark

by WorkinOnThree (thoroughlynerdy)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 03:25:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7558312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoroughlynerdy/pseuds/WorkinOnThree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's a barista who meets Alexander one day and gets a little more than he bargained for in the feelings department.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Bright Is Too Slight to Hold Back All My Dark

**Author's Note:**

> And here it is, my first attempt at HamilFic. If anything feels weird, or off, or _anything_ , please let me know! 
> 
> Much thanks to K who held my hand through this and served as beta (and who reminded me that the general population actually eats meat). 
> 
> Title is from "Jesus Christ" by Brand New because I will always be an emo kid at heart.

John’s been at work for two hours and while his body is going through the motions, his brain still isn’t fully in it yet. The smell of the coffee and pastry always perks him up, but it’s worn off forty five minutes into his shift so he’s left with just his coworkers to entertain him for the rest of it. If you ask him, as far as coworkers go, he’s got the best in the business and today it is him and Lafayette holding down the fort. In the year and a half they’d been working together they had their system down to a science. John usually handles the coffee side of things while Lafayette tends to the food, but when needed, John could knead some dough.

He’s just perfecting the caramel drizzle atop his last customer’s macchiato when a grumpy voice hits his ears.

“I can’t believe they closed. What the hell kind of place just closes without any notice like that?” The voice’s owner is speaking into his phone and gesturing wildly at the monstrosity of it all. “No, I’m at some other place down the street now, Another Brew?”

John slides the cup he’s holding to the customer across the counter and braces himself for a halfhearted conversation with the new one. He hates when customers are on the phone while they order, but since there aren’t any signs posted, he can’t actually call him out on it. Well, officially anyway. He schools his face into a pleasant smile, then feels his eyebrows furrow as the man shoots him an apologetic look.

“Hey, let me call you back later. I’m standing here about to order coffee and I’m being rude as hell to this guy. Yeah. Uh huh,” He rolls his eyes at John. “Okay, I’m hanging up now. Bye.” He turns to John with a smile that betrays the annoyance he radiated upon walking through the doors. “Hello,” He chirps.

“Good morning,” John replies with a small laugh at the attitude change. “What can I get you?”

The stranger eyes the menu for a few seconds, sweeps his eyes over the pastry display then turns back to John, “Large Americano with an extra shot, please.”

John nods as he is keying in the order on the register, then turns mechanically to fill the order. And if John surreptitiously asks for a name for the order even though there is no line, the man, Alex, is too nice to call him on it. When he finishes the drink, he caps it with a lid and slips it into a sleeve before sliding it across the counter. As Alex’s hand reaches for him, John pulls back like he’s been burned and gets an affronted look for the action.

He can practically feel Laf’s eyes burning a hole in the back of his head and turns to give him a covert glare. Once Alex has moved to a table on the far side of the room, John turns to his friend and sags slightly, “What?” he asks almost pathetically.

“John dear, you’ve really got to learn some manners,” Laf replies with a kind smile.

John bristles at this because he is polite, has been since he was a kid because when you’re the son of a Southern Senator you can’t be anything _but_ polite. “I have fucking manners,” he bites out then glares even harder when he gets a giggle in response. “I just--you _know_ I can’t touch people.” John finishes lamely. 

John had tried many times to figure out how he could avoid touching anyone without seeming rude. When he’d first started he’d lasted barely an hour in fingerless gloves before they got too gross feeling to keep on throughout the shift. Since then he’s taken to just looking like a germaphobic asshole and dealing with it.

Lafayette lays a reassuring hand on John’s shoulder, his pinky resting lightly on John’s exposed skin, and John feels a rush of affection and and contentment course through him. Trust his friend to know exactly what he needed. “Thanks,” he tells him quietly. John slides out of his grip and returns to his place behind the register as the next customer steps up to the counter.

An hour later Alex slips out with an unreadable glance in John’s direction and John absolutely does not spend the following twenty minutes trying to decode it. Nope. 

\---

Alex appears again the following morning at the same time, and again the next. He hasn’t tried to grab the coffee from John again, and he goes against the crowd and always uses cash to pay, which John finds oddly endearing in their increasingly technology-centered society. 

By the following week, John takes a chance and has Alex’s drink waiting for him on the bar when he shows up. Alex raises his eyebrows at the drink, but slides a few bills across the counter anyway. “I must be getting predictable,” he says with a smile.

“Predictability is good sometimes,” John replies with a shrug before counting the bills and digging in the register for Alex’s change.

“Keep it,” Alex smiles as John starts to hand it to him before turning to throw a wave at Lafayette and settle into his usual spot.

John blinks, then drops the change into the tip jar as Laf gives him a beaming smile.

The next morning Alex again hands him a few wadded up bills and as John goes to put them in the register he finds a scrap of paper folded within. As he glances over the words he feels his fingers tingle where they lay on the writing. He sucks in a breath.

_Smile. Happy looks good on you.  
Alexander Hamilton 214-718-3445_

John can’t fight his smile as he grins back at Alex who gives him a self-satisfied smirk in return. When John’s shift ends for the day he sends Alex a text,

_Hey, it’s John Laurens from the coffee shop. Does this give me license to bug you whenever I want now?_

He hesitates, thumb resting over the send button for a solid thirty seconds before he actually presses it. Is he being too forward?

His phone buzzes in his hand a few seconds later

_Definitely, but be warned, it’s a two way street._

John is pleased that the notes from Alex continue over the next month. He was worried that once they’d begun texting, Alex wouldn’t feel the need to write them anymore. He does note that Alex seems to be finding excuses to hang around the register for longer periods of time, which only manages to increase the apprehension growing inside of him.

One Thursday Alex seems to decide that paying in change is a brilliant idea and as he fumbles with the coins, John just shoots him a pained look. “You know I’m gonna have to roll all of these dimes later, right?”

Alex grins sheepishly as he slides the coins one by one to John who deftly avoids Alex’s fingers.

Thankfully the bills are back the next day, along with a a few lines from “Here Comes the Sun” which leave a sense of warmth spreading throughout John’s chest as he reads them. He throws a look at Alex who seems to be avoiding his gaze as he studies the phone in his hands. 

On Monday as Alex reaches for his cup he makes a spectacular show of clumsily knocking it over and spilling the contents everywhere. John stares down at the mess for a few seconds before snatching one of the errant rags on the counter and beginning to mop up the spill as best he can. Suddenly a fistful of napkins joins him and he catches Alex’s gaze as the sides of their hands brush gently. The shock of excitement sparks up his wrist like a current and have both John and Alex gasping in surprise.

“I’ll just--I’m gonna make you another,” John chokes out leaving Alex with a pile of soggy napkins and a dazed look on his face.

Alex gives him an odd look, but finishes wiping up the mess. When John sets the new one down, Alex waits until John has moved back away to take it.

“What was that?” Lafayette asks as John watches Alex make his way across the store.

“Dangerous,” John replies and starts to turn away.

Lafayette grabs his arm, rooting John to the spot, “Why are you so afraid to feel,?” he asks his friend sharply. The frustration settles in John’s bones, sinks to his toes where it weighs him down.

“It’s too much,” he says weakly.

Sympathy floods through him at the words and John’s anger at the pity shoots through his spine and Lafayette snatches his hand back suddenly.

John turns and busies himself with restocking the cold cups and refilling the napkin dispenser.

It takes a couple of days, but when John realizes what Alex’s intentions are he has to bite down on his instinct to lash out. He’s trying to slide Alex’s drink to him as usual when suddenly Alex is reaching out. His thumb brushes against the metal of the band on John’s watch and John jumps back instinctively. He gives Alex a withering stare. 

“Whoa,” Alex said throwing his hands up in defense. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I just wanted to check out your watch.”

John fumbles with the clasp of his watch before slipping it off his wrist and tossing it to Alex. “There ya go, now excuse me, I need to help these other customers.” He turns and forces a smile as he speaks with the next customer in line. He feels Alex’s eyes on him as he prepares the simple iced tea and resolutely ignores him. When he is finished with the customer, he turns and finds his watch lying on the counter and Lafayette and Alex huddled in the far corner chatting animatedly. John grabs one of the rags and begins wiping down the counter space.

“You know he’s just trying to flirt with you,” Laf says by way of greeting as he sidles up next to John and they both give Alex a wave as he leaves the shop. 

John snorts, “I’m a walking emotional disaster, he shouldn’t even bother.” John instantly regrets the self-deprecation as the smile slides off his friend’s face. He keeps his eyes trained on the gleaming wood of the counter.

“You’re too hard on yourself. Those who know you, love you.” Laf’s arm slides around John’s shoulders and John sags into the touch. The barrier of fabric keeps the storm of emotions at bay, but John still feels like he he is drowning. “At least try and open up a little?” Laf requests giving John a small squeeze.

John gives a noncommittal hum in response and leans his head against Laf’s. As their cheeks press together, he feels Laf stiffen as the tendrils of fear coursing through John flow into him. Lafayette pets his hair wordlessly. 

Alex’s note the next morning isn’t folded into the bills, instead it’s in an envelope and John’s heart hammers in his chest when Alex slides it to him across the counter. He waits until his break to read it so he can be alone when he reads it and have time to process whatever the letter holds. His feet carry him a couple of blocks over to a small park and he sinks down on a bench underneath the shade before breaking the seal. He steels himself against the words, but somehow they sneak under his skin anyway.

_John,_

_I’m truly sorry for my actions over the past few weeks. Since we’ve known one another you have made it abundantly clear to me that physical contact with people you don’t know very well is an unwelcome advance to you. I’d somehow convinced myself that if I could just ease you into it, that if I just sort of snuck it in enough times, that I could become one of the people with whom you were comfortable enough to share that with. I was wrong. My actions were wrong. I betrayed your trust and inadvertently hurt you. If you could find it in yourself to forgive me, nothing would make me happier than continuing our friendship. If not, please accept this apology and I will find another coffeeshop._

_Yours,  
Alex_

John feels like his heart was breaking as he reads through the words. He is overcome with a sense of shame and sadness he hasn’t felt in years. He folds the letter neatly and puts it back into the envelope. He fishes his phone out of his pocket. 

Opening his messages, John types.

_You’re forgiven._  


\---

They’re back to usual the following week, only Alex’s notes remain too long to be concealed in money. He’s taken to copying down entire paragraphs from novels or poems he finds inspiring and giving them to John. One time Alex slips his the stupidest pick up like he’s ever heard-- “Is your father a thief? Because someone stole the stars and put them on your face!” and John can’t stop smiling for an hour. 

Before Alex leaves that day John comes to a decision. He gives himself a mini pep talk, talks himself out of it, then talks himself back into it.

“Hey, Alex?” he calls out as his target is threading his way through the tables and towards the door.

Alex stops and looks at him curiously, “What’s up?” he asks as he changes direction and heads towards John.

“Do you want to come over for dinner Friday? I was going to make some _pernil y arroz amarillo con habichuelas_ if you want?” John winces internally and fights the urge to say “just kidding, have a nice life,” and disappear into the back room for the next month.

Alex’s face lights up at the offer and he’s agreeing before John really registers what’s happening. “My mom used to make that when I was little,” he sighs fondly.

John smiles back, “Mine did too.”

The moment lingers before Alex speaks again bringing them back to the present, “I’ll bring some wine too, we’ll make it a proper meal,” he grins easily.

“I’ll text you my address,” John says smiling and a little breathlessly.

When he gets home that night he takes a look at his living room and cringes. He’s been living here for eight months, but there are still boxes in the corner and pictures leaning against the wall waiting to be hung. He turns on some music sets about cleaning and making it look like he actually lives in the apartment. His mom would kill him if he ever let anyone visit with it looking like this.

He’s digging through a box in his apartment, looking for the signed ball he’d gotten from Carlos Beltran at batting practice. He’s been meaning to put it on display forever, but now it is a _mission_. He stops suddenly when he unearths a soft blue blanket. He reaches for it, fingers gently grazing the knots as he pulls it free from the confines of the box. He lifts it up to see it fully and presses his face into the fabric, inhaling deeply and convincing himself that it somehow still smells like her. He abandons the search for the ball and instead settles back, clutching the blanket to him as memories of his mother flow over him.

He was 16 when she had passed and he still felt the acute ache the loss left in him. When he’d moved up to New York he’d insisted on making copies of her recipes so he could try and make some of the dishes she would make while he was growing up. He felt lucky that he’d had the most amount of time with her out of all of his siblings, but he also felt guilty for the same reasons. He could remember the way a bowl of her buche e perico could solve any problem he seemed to have or the overwhelming happiness he felt when biting into a freshly baked piece of telera. 

None of the dishes John’s made so far have managed to invoke quite the same feelings, but they still taste like home.

The next morning John is tired. He hadn’t slept much with thinking of her and going through more boxes of things he’d meant to unpack ages ago, and with a jolt he realizes that he is running ten minutes late to work. He rushes through his morning routine and clocks in with seconds to spare. Lafayette tosses him a quizzical look, but John waves him off and sets forth with the routine of opening the shop. 

John’s in a slight daze throughout the morning and doesn’t notice when Alex appears at his usual time. He’s staring off into space and jolts when a hand suddenly finds his wrist. He feels concern seep into him and when he looks up, a tear is sliding down Alex’s cheek and John is gaping, trying to explain but can’t find the words so instead he runs, breaking the connection and effectively cutting off the flow of emotion.

He’s three blocks away when he realizes that he hadn’t said anything to anyone, but keeps on running as fast as he can until he’s another six blocks away and he’s collapsing down onto a bench, breath coming out in sobs. This feeling will pass--they always do--but for now he’s overwhelmed with it. He’s shaken from both his own feelings and Alex’s. He can still feel where Alex’s hand was wrapped around his wrist, each finger leaving its own sear in his skin. He’d felt the concern first, then the undercurrent of curiosity, the spark of attraction deep down. He hates how much he wants it because he’s never let himself have it. He can’t control how this works and he hates it because it always ends up shit. It’s always his sorrow, his rage that are transferred and he lets out an angry noise that has a mother pulling her toddler away from him in a rush. And he hates himself just a little more. He covers the spot Alex had grasped with his own hands, feels the remnants of the touch but it fades too quickly and he’s left feeling almost empty.

An hour later he slinks back to his apartment and calls Martha. She’s overly understanding on the phone and insists he takes the rest of the day off. John’s too tired to argue, instead just buries himself in his blankets and sleeps. 

He wakes at 3:00 AM to a message from Laf asking if he’s okay and groggily sends back a reply before sinking back into unconsciousness.

The next morning he returns to work with his proverbial tail between his legs. He lets Laf wrap him in a tight hug, the love radiating him almost knocking John to his knees. He feels warmer than he could ever feel even under a million blankets, and lets Laf’s love give him the push he needs to start the day.

Tentatively he makes Alex’s coffee and sets it on the bar. He fidgets as he watches the door and tries not to let himself feel too disappointed as the minutes tick by and Alex still doesn’t show. Truth be told if he were in Alex’s shoes he’d probably never speak to John again either. He tries not to let his crushing disappointment show and busies himself with the next few customers in line.

An hour later the door is banging open and John’s hand jerks and the chocolate drizzle he’s drawing on whipped cream lands on the counter instead. He looks at the door and sees a soggy looking Alex staring at him, eyes wide.

“The subway was flooded. I had to wade through a foot of water, then walk three blocks to get here.”

John takes in the sad state of Alex’s shoes and gives him a sympathetic smile. John turns wordlessly and begins fixing a drink, working intently until he finishes. When he’s done Alex is standing at the counter. John slowly slides the drink to him, letting his hand linger longer than usual and Alex is reaching out, wrapping his hand around John’s as his rests around the cup. Alex’s grip is vice-like and John lets out a surprised noise as the intensity of Alex’s feelings flow into him. The desire spreads like wildfire and John has a little trouble breathing normally. 

Neither of them say anything for a long moment, but then John starts smiling so hard his cheeks hurt and Alex is giggling and suddenly John is overwhelmed with just how happy he feels in this moment. 

“Fuck,” John breaths out voice low, “Is this what you always feel like?” he’s still smiling.

“Not always,” Alex says casually.

Something hot shoots through John’s chest and settles low in his belly at Alex’s words. “Oh,” he says in quiet revelation.

Alex positively leers.

John is now excited to see where this newfound understanding will lead.

**Author's Note:**

> translation of dishes:  
> pernil y arroz amarillo con habichuelas = pork with beans and yellow rice  
> buche e perico = literally parrot's cheek, but it's a corn stew with with smoked porkchops, garlic, cilantro, squash, tomatoes and onions  
> telera = a savory bread


End file.
